


Don't Stop Me Now

by cosmicchaotic (orphan_account)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Anxiety, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Autism, Depression, Drugs, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-binary character, Panic Attacks, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21649924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cosmicchaotic
Summary: It's 1993. New decade. New schools. The prospect of college looms over The Losers. Four years after defeating Pennywise, Richie isn't quite ready to let go of his childhood that easily.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I'm gay. Angst is all I know. I'm sorry in advance of all this. That is all. Yes, the title is because of Freddie Mercury. We have established I am gay.

Bev really thought she was helping him out, she really did. He could hear her voice coming out of the receiver as he sat with the phone propped between his ear and shoulder while he turned the pages of his text book.  
"Come on, dude." She said, not for the first time. Probably not the last either, he expected. "You literally haven't had a single date. Not one. I'm telling you. She is definitely your type."  
"You don't even know what my type is," he responded. Not that she was wrong of course. He knew he hadn't been on a date in the last four years. But he continued anyway. "Also you're wrong. Me and Mrs K. had a great time last night."  
Of course, the Losers had seen each other since, mostly vacations, freshman tear when Bev's aunt had enrolled her somewhere a little closer to home. At least they'd let her finish middle school with them. She wasn't too far. And she always called.

She wasn't the first. Bill had tried too, of course. Whatever girl he'd been dating at the time, Richie hadn't remembered her name, had insisted he go on a double date with them and her friend who though he was cute and funny and apparently had a massive crush on him. He excused himself saying he was too tired, usually. It wasn't a lie as such. Between lack of sleep and working through coursework he had been pretty exhausted. Not that he would ever admit to it, he still thought about IT. They'd killed IT, sure. Derry was safe. But that didn't stop him flinching at the sight of a red balloon, seeing a clown, he hadn't even been to the arcade in a long while. He'd turned Eddie down last time he'd suggested Street Fighter. He'd day he just wasn’t into it anymore, he didn't really have time. And he would never mention waking up in a cold sweat, with the image of the sewers fresh in his mind. He knew Bill was affected to, he avoided sewer grates like the plague and Richie could physically see him tense when seeing a little kid in a yellow raincoat. Stan too. He’d heard Stan wake up during the night at sleepovers, shooting up and breathing fast, checking to see if he'd woken anyone. Or if anyone had seen him. Richie would pretend he'd been asleep. If someone brought up what was on his mind, he'd hate for someone to pry it out of him. Every so often he'd remember out if the blue and feel the scar on his hand sting. It was psychosomatic of course but that didn’t take back the pain or the fear he tried to ignore.

One good thing to come of it though. No more Bowers. School bullies still existed but with the worst offender gone and after fighting a child eating demon clown, threats and names were a little less on the list of things to worry about. Not that it stopped him of course. People were going to realise eventually, not that the name calling ever stopped. People were going to start rumours. There'd be graffiti on the bathroom stalls again. Those thoughts kept him awake a little too often. Kept him a little behind in class. He tried to ignore those too, after all his parents would be mad if his grades did slip. He was smart, so they expected a lot from him.

"Richie? Richie are you listening? Hello?" Bev's voice smacked him back into reality.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, this project us just... really difficult so it's kinda hard to concentrate and it's kinda important to not fail it, you know what I mean?"

Even all those years ago he'd known he'd been a little different. Comments people made. How everyone suddenly seemed to be making out in the halls, hiding under the bleachers together. It was gross. It was unbearable and it wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault that even if a girl was pretty, he didn’t want to kiss them, or hold their hand, or go on dates with them. Even if they were, as Bev had put it really really hot. But it's not like they were going to understand. They absolutely would not understand.

"So, I'm telling her no then, am I?" Bev sighed.

It wouldn’t be too bad, he thought sometimes, telling Bev. They'd gotten a lot closer over the years and he loved her, of course, as a friend. She didn’t really care what people thought, she was strong and independent and Richie wished he'd had that. He'd sit and stew in his own feelings and jealousy of everyone else moving on and being happy. Girls had even flirted with Eddie, who'd gone from this shy and awkward kid to, well, hot. Not that Richie would've said that. Out loud. In front of all his friends.

Stan too. Stan had been his best friend for so long. He felt it was more like Stan tolerated and put up with him. Maybe out of pity. He saw this kid with big glasses and hawaiian shirts and thought, God, someone needs to help that kid. He absolutely trusted Stan. Stan who'd held him back when he absolutely would have thrown down with Bill. Richie, who was the only one who attended Stan's Bar Mitzvah and had stood and clapped when he'd gone completely off on a tangent. The thing is, it wasn’t the same for him. Nobody quite remembers that summer the same. Not everyone spent the last four years trying to repress their feelings.

He knew what Derry was like for people like him, and it wasn't safe. Drowning in school work and extra curriculars. Keeping distracted. Keeping his eyes up. Don't look at the other boys like that, Richie. They'll know. He hated that little voice in his head. The little voice that said what would you friends say, Richie? What would they say? The little voice reminded him of Pennywise. I know your secret. Of course he knew what other people would think of him. He talked a lot of shit that would get him into trouble, regularly. But not like this. He hadn’t even said it out loud, even to himself. Because that would be admitting it and Richie had been putting it off as long as he could. Maybe could’ve gone the rest of his life without saying anything. Using jokes as a coping mechanism. Telling Eddie he'd fucked his mom. He didn’t even like Eddie’s mom. Mrs. K had spent years lying and putting him through hell when he was too naive to know better. It was better now. He still lived at home, but free from the constraints Sonia Kaspbrak had made to keep him feeling trapped and scared.

Not that he hadn’t always loved Eddie, he had. But things were different now. Good different. He was more sure of himself. He’d gotten taller, but was still shorter than Richie. They’d even shared cigarettes with Bev behind the bleachers, hiding from the teachers. Smoking was NOT allowed on school property at any time. He was definitely more rebellious, more risky. Middle school Eddie was soft, cute. Something that had driven him mad, something that had led him to carving their initials on the kissing bridge. He’d ditched polos and shirts and short shorts. This Eddie would break his heart into pieces and he'd thank him. Bev had once said he would grow into his looks, Beverly was a liar. He was waiting instead he had to sit around watching everyone else look hot and then cycle home and silently scream about it. Bev would understand, maybe, if he told her. Bev had liked boys. Surely Bev wouldn’t make him feel bad about it. Or any worse than he already did. Not that it was a bad thing, if the tables were turned, he’d understand he thinks.

Fuck it he thinks. “I’m gay, Bev.”  
“Oh...” A voice barely audible on the other side of the line. A moment passes. And then another. It feels like an eternity. She’s been quiet for too long. This is it. “Okay.”  
Richie releases a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. “You can't tell anyone,” he mumbles. “Not yet.”  
“Okay.” Bev repeats. “Are you okay?”  
Richie pauses, “I don’t know... Maybe? I don’t-" It’s a weight off his chest, sure. And Bev seems to be taking it as well as he could have hoped, which is good. It definitely could have gone worse. A lot worse. “I haven’t told anyone else.” Bev can hear his voice shaking a little but she doesn’t know how to find the right words to comfort him.  
“You know I still love you, right?” she says. Richie doesn’t respond. “It doesn’t matter to me. You’re still you. You’re still Richie. It doesn’t change anything.”  
“Thanks, I love you too.” he replies softly.  
She adds, “Mrs. K is going to be devastated." And despite everything, Richie laughs.


	2. Maurice

Eddie can usually tell when something is off with Richie, or rather when he’s not completely focused on whatever is going on around them. Which is to say, it'd been happening a lot more frequently. He was probably texting Bev. He was always texting Bev. For something that had only become a thing in the last couple of years he was actually quite proficient at it. All the extra hours he'd taken babysitting and dog walking to save up, and was surprisingly good at. Kids, it seemed, loved Richie. He hadn’t actually seen it himself, but apparently it was like he was a different person. Still funny, but in a clean way that didn’t make anyone want to cover their child's ears. Also, Richie, being respectful to adults?

They were all sat in the club house. Ben had built it while they were still kids, before defeating It. It was a lot more stable and sturdy now, not that health or injury risks were a big deal to Eddie anymore. He didn’t see a lot of his mom, though they lived together. He’d taken to locking himself in his room, Ben had installed for him when his mother had been at the chemist or staying at the club house, or taking up his time with school clubs. He ran track with Ben, seeing as his inhaler was just another lie his mother told him he needed. 

Panic attacks, he'd learned they’d been called. The fear, the breathlessness, the dizziness. The numb feeling in his hands and the pain in his chest. It had seemed pretty extreme that his brain could do all of that. Sometimes he’d still reach for the inhaler he didn’t keep on him anymore. He was pretty good at track too, and Ben? In the last few years Ben had lost weight, noticeably. And he was pretty good looking, Eddie had noticed. He seemed pretty embarrassed about it whenever Richie brought it up but he wasn’t wrong. The other thing was, when he realised what was going on, Richie had a weird, serious side that he wasn’t used to. The jokes stopped. He was genuinely concerned. Not that he didn’t think Richie didn’t care or worry about his friends. They’d known each other long enough to know that Richie had to hide every genuine emotion he had under three different layers of humor at any given time.

Eddie had his legs outstretched on the hammock, prodding Richie in the face with the side of his foot. Richie was giving him a death glare, cigarette in one hand, book in the other. Once, Eddie would have lectured him. _Didn’t he know about the dangers of second hand smoke_ and _God, Rich, there are so many chemicals in those things. You know they can kill you, right?_ Now he just held his hand out for Richie to pass it along. He wasn’t really a smoker, not like Richie and Bev, just socially. He passed it back after taking a drag, blowing the smoke back at him. They were definitely far too tall to both comfortably fit on the hammock these days but that hadn’t really stopped them. And the others weren’t that bothered about getting their turn, especially when they’d bicker. On more than one occasion, Richie had been completely shifted out of the hammock, ending with a loud thud on the floor.

Bill had been talking about applying to colleges. Mike and Ben had been engaging in the conversation and Eddie had been nodding along at the right times. Richie, it seemed, had mostly been ignoring it. Ben and Bill had both been interested in Literature but Ben had been spending a lot of time in woodwork and had considered architecture. Mike wasn’t sure, but he still wanted to see Florida, regardless of what his grandfather would say. Stan had stayed pretty quiet, Eddie didn’t blame him. He hadn’t completely thought through who he wanted to be. It seemed weird that at eighteen you had to choose what you wanted to do with the rest of your life.

“Why don’t you become a doctor, Ed’s? You can get any pills you want with that,” he’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed Richie had joined in.

  
“You know that’s not how it works, right?” He retorts. “Anyway, do I look like my grades could get me a doctorate or whatever?”

  
“They could if you tried.” 

  
“They could if you tried.” Eddie repeated in a mocking tone. “We aren’t all AP, Honors Student, Valedictorian material. We aren’t all smart enough to get into like, I don’t know? Wherever you’re going. Yale? Harvard? Princeton?”

  
Richie shrugs, taking a keen interest in the book he'd been holding, that until now had just been in his hand with his arm dangling off the side of the hammock. The book had looked torn and frayed, like people had purposely sought to vandalize it. Something Richie had likely pocketed from the library, not something that would’ve been sorely missed at any rate. Some corners turned over, creased spine, stained coffee on the cover that he could vaguely read the faded letters of Maurice on the cover.

  
“Have you even applied? Or at the very least started a work resume?” Bill inquired, more seriously than Eddie had taken it. “You know it’s not that far away now.”

  
“He hasn’t.” Stan deadpanned, “Bev said. Shocking, she doesn’t only talk to you three you know.” For a second Richie thinks the jig is up. He can’t believe Bev would have done this. Told anyone. And Stan of all people to bring it up in front of everyone. “To be fair, I haven’t thought much about it either. She has plans I think, on getting to college, getting out of Maine I mean.”

  
Richie shrugs again. He closes the book and tosses it onto the floor, which Stan gives him a look and promptly shelved. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. “I don't know yet, okay?” he mumbles, not particularly looking anywhere. “I don’t know what I want to do. I might not even go to college. It’s stupid. What am I gonna do, work till I die in some boring office till I die? No thanks.”

  
“So what are you going to do, then? Just live at your parents?” Eddie furrows his brows.

  
“I've got it all planned.” Richie raises his in return when the others shoot him a look of confusion. “I’m going to die sad and alone in a clown costume with thirty cents to my name, high off my ass in an alley behind a Walmart at the ripe old age of twenty five. Told you I had it planned. “

  
“You’re so funny, you know. Hilarious. I am literally laughing my ass off right now.” Eddie crosses his arms.

  
Richie smirks back, “If you didn’t want an answer maybe you shouldn’t have asked. Maybe I’ll move in with your mom.” Eddie doesn’t respond, just merely flips him off.

If he hadn’t known Richie as long as he had, a comment like that would’ve flown over him like classic Richie. The thing was, growing up, Richie had cared about his grades, about what his parents would say about his future plans. This Richie wasn’t the Richie who would’ve made a speech in front of a clown he followed up with beating the shit out of. This Richie was even more closed off. Richie who would walk from class to class headphones for his Walkman on and ignored jeers and comments from the kids in the halls. And would not start a fight with what was left of Bowers' gang. Which was decidedly not very Richie of him. But getting Richie to open up was like asking a brick wall for the time. You weren’t going to get anywhere. Stan and Eddied had shared a look. One that said _I know we both know something is up but I don’t know what it is and you clearly don’t either and both of us are too afraid to say anything._

It wasn’t that Richie had a particularly bad temper, or something could hold his attention for long enough for him to hold a grudge. But if Richie really didn’t want to get into anything, and someone tried to force his hand, he would shut down. He was like that. He'd talk tough about skipping class but the minute he was sick and the nurse tried to send him home he would kick up a fuss. And that’s what got to Eddie. You care about someone who clearly didn’t care all that much for themselves and would try to hide it. He’d bring it up, but he wasn’t an idiot, here and now wouldn’t be the time. He was itching to say, _Hey man are you doing okay it’s just we're a little worried about you is everything cool, are you mad at us? Is there anything we can do? Seriously, we want to help._ He just couldn’t, not yet.


	3. The One Where Richie Starts Having a Quater Life Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think. You can see from the title, after rambling, where this is briefly heading. Also known as Richie gets high and has anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry gays it took a while i be going thru it

His parents are out and he’s sat on the steps to the garden. Another cigarette lit, smoke swirling into the air, ash falling to the ground. There's a couple of empty bottles by his feet. The air is cool. Last he'd spoken to Bev, she’d said Stan and Eddie had known something was off. They were worried. She hadn’t said anything, she was going to visit, make sure he was okay, if he was eating right. He wasn’t worried, he'd paid a returning grad student to split a pack of beers if he got him some Marlboros from the store. His parents were out for the night. Richie wasn’t worried. He was just going to ignore it. Everything.

The thing about growing up in Derry was the insults they used weren’t actually insults. They were just words with bad connotations, depending on who used them and how they used them. He supposed other places would be like that too, but this was Derry, this was where he’d grown up. And since this was Derry, the connotations were always going to be bad. He was used to it now. Older kids, even some of the younger kids, throwing around slurs, if they could even be called kids anymore at eighteen. Richie had gone past letting the words affect him for the most part. The hardest part had been being twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Realising the bad things people said about you might have been true. And they had been. Not that Richie thought it was particularly bad. Bev hadn’t either, though she’d tried to encourage him, he wasn’t giving in to talking about it.

He still hadn’t really thought much about college either, since the discussion in the club house. Or getting a job. He knew he should have, he really needed to. But to do that would require thinking about the future, leaving Derry, leaving his friends. He’d have to think about settling down, having a family, something he just couldn’t imagine. Not because he disliked the idea of finding the one of being in love but it wouldn’t be fair. His parents would expect him to find a nice girl to settle down with, have a child or two. They’d be disappointed. He knew very well his parents opinions, how adults would mutter and whisper to each other. He could still remember the missing posters, hallucinations maybe, but boys like him always went missing.

He knew, Bev had assured him, there was nothing wrong with him. There were guys at her school that were dating. There had been at least two girls that had confessed to Bev herself, one of them a junior, the other in her math class. It’s the short hair, she'd said. She'd once tried to grow out the choppy cut she’d impulsively given herself in middle school but had gotten too impatient and cut it again, for the sense of freedom. She didn’t need long hair to be beautiful. She was beautiful, in a way, Richie guessed. If he liked girls he probably would’ve understood why Ben and Bill had been so interested. Not that Ben had stopped being interested.

Being in love was weird like that, not that Richie could pin point a time where he’d been in love. He’d just assumed. He’d pretty much given up on the hope of falling in love. The thought of it was kind of sad. _Ignore it_ , his brain said. Besides, he had more important things to focus on, exams would start creeping up. The more he wanted to study just to make sure he’d pass. And let’s face it, he was going to pass regardless. The more he couldn’t bring himself to do it. What was the point?

What was the point of all the coursework? The SATs. Sitting in a hall lined with desks and chairs. Getting grades. When you had no plan on where to take it. No plan for what you wanted. Richie had basically taken whatever his parents had pushed for him to. They encouraged him, they wanted him to be successful. But would they have wanted him to be happy if they knew what would make him happy? Probably not. They’d taken him to Stan's Bar Mitzvah but they’d done their best to raise him with the church. He didn’t even know what he believed anymore. Some all seeing god who loved mankind but also hated anyone who was different. Who created man in his own image but also tried to wipe out humanity by drowning it. He'd held his tongue back from saying _Hey Stan, what does the Torah say about being a queer._ Because that definitely would’ve roused suspicion for something he wasn’t ready for.

A conversation like that, with Stan of all people, was something he’d been dreading. Stan, his best friend. Stan, who's parents were deeply religious. What would he think. They’d talked about deep things before, on occasion, but never about this. From the outside looking in people would assume Stan tolerated Richie. Richie, carefree and loud and Stan, anxious and more reserved. Stan cared a lot more than he would let on, about all of the losers. He wouldn’t have gone out of his way to buy them all shower caps to protect them from spiders otherwise. Or how they’d all crowded round him after being attacked at Niebolt. How they’d all hugged a distraught Bill in a group after defeating Pennywise, who had taken the form of Georgie.

It wasn’t an every day occurrence, just more than Bev would have liked. Having to ask Bill to check up on Richie when she couldn’t, or having Ben catch up with him at the club house. It’s at the club house alone when she next sees him. Climbing down, the smoke rising, the off scent. Of it, not at all nicotine and tobacco-like.

“Where did you get that?” she asks, before he has the time to hide it.

  
“Some guy, in the town.” He shrugs.

  
She doesn’t look disappointed but she raises an eyebrow, taking it from him. He's calmer than usual. He raises both of his in response. “So, have you thought about what you’re going to do about the whole Ben and Bill situation.”

  
She shakes her head. The situation being, knowing both had had feelings for her. Had kissed both of them. And had been interested in both of them, and not knowing who she had stronger feelings for. Or if these were just crushes or could they be bigger things than high school first loves. 

It has been a little while since their conversation over the phone.  
“Have you still not told anyone?”

  
Richie shook his head. “Just you."

  
“I’m not pressuring you. But I really think that if you did everyone would support you.” She says, taking the blunt from him and throwing it out of the club house and onto the grass and puts her hand on his.

  
“It’s not that simple,” he sighs. “What if they don’t? What if they stop being my friends? What if they tell their parents? What if it gets to my parents? I’ll be on the street, probably, I think. Word gets out. My parents probably already think something is up. They’re going to expect me to have a prom date. To get a wife. What am I going to do? Ask some girl I don’t love to give up her life. Dance with any girl who doesn’t try to stay as far away from as possible, Bev?"

She’s a little taken back. As it seems, Richie when smoking weed, is a little more open then regular Richie and the calmness had been replaced. Regular Richie would brush her off and make a joke about some girl, a really hot girl he has absolutely slept with.  
“I just wish things were the way they used to be,” he says quietly. “I just... We used to play video games and ride our backs. We were kids and it was fun and we didn’t have to think about things like going to college...”

  
“Richie...” 

  
“I hate this town but I don’t want to leave you guys. I don’t want any of you to go. The thought of it all changing terrifies me, Bev. I don’t know what I’m going to do out there. I’ll be by myself, I wont have anyone. I’ll be alone. I don’t- I don’t want to he alone.” There’s a hiccup in his voice, hinting at the anxiety he keeps bottled up from the Losers. The facade of jokester completely stripped. 

She rests her chin on his shoulder and wraps her arms around him as he reaches beneath his classes to push away the tears. _He will not cry in front of Bev._ He’s trembling slightly and she softly shushes him. He’s kind of glad Bev had found him here and not one of the others. Only the two of them and the quietness around them Letting the feeling of being overwhelmed and scared wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly anyone who kudos or comments on this fic i love u will die for u


	4. I Think Someone In This Chapter Might Be Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexuality and gender are a clusterfuck. Everything is a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me. I'm the gay.

It’s a little odd to Stan, that Richie and Beverly have plans to go to prom together. Sure, they were really good friends, but he’d though she’d have been going with Bill or Ben, or maybe not at all. It wasn’t her school after all. Richie hadn’t shown any interest in Bev, or she in him. But on the other hand, they talked so much more than the others it was scary.

It was late. Or rather, really early on a Saturday morning. It was too dark to see his watch. Somehow, Richie had talked him into going to a party he’d overheard someone talking about. Stan didn’t drink so they’d managed to leave early enough that nothing had kicked off. They’d probably stay at Richie’s tonight, his parents were more lenient on them coming and going. Not that Richie wasn’t drunk drunk, Stan had been keeping an eye on that. Steering him away from the pills being exchanged, pulling him away from people doing shots, much to his dismay. He’d stumble a little, but otherwise he was okay.

Richie wasn’t an idiot, he knew that. But sometimes he was dumb and would do stupid things, little unnecessary risks that it would be up to Stan to divert his attention away from doing. He knew some people thought it made him seem very straight laced. It wasn’t that. Well, it was kind of that. But sometimes his friends needed protecting from themselves. Especially when it came to stopping them from doing things that would get them into trouble. Keeping a level head was what he was good at, most of the time.

Richie had been leaning on him, a little quiet and off balance. It was too quiet. The sky almost entirely pitch black save for the light of the moon and the light pollution. Still, it was peaceful and some stars were out. Occasionally, they’d pass groups of drunks, hear yelling and carefully watch from a distance as people staggered past. Very occasionally a car would pass, or Richie would hum a song like Jump or whatever eighties track his brain could remember. 

The other thing was that he’d been keeping an eye on Richie of his own accord. Your best friend starts acting weird and it goes on for weeks, months, maybe and you notice. He left it. He kept leaving it. If Richie had wanted to talk to him about something, he would. But then again, Richie never cane to them about personal things. If they’d gone to him, he’d even avoid making a joke if he knew something was really troubling them. But Richie? He rarely let on when he was freaking out. But Stan could tell, sometimes, if he really looked for the subtle hints.

When they finally reached the door it was locked and Richie fumbled for the keys. The Toziers must’ve been out of town again, deciding Richie was old and responsible enough to be left to take care of himself. After a couple of tries the lock clicked and Stan flicked the light switch in the hall. Slowly, they made their way to the living room and dropped onto the cough. There was another thing.

“Hey, Richie.” Stan said, not looking up but rather at the blank screen of the little television across the room.

  
“Hm?” He responded, tilting his head.

  
“I read your book.”

  
Richie blinks. “I haven’t written a book?”

  
Stan shakes his head. “Idiot. No. I mean, the one you were reading. Back in the den.”

  
At first Richie’s brain draws a blank. He’s a little out of it, but he’s not that out of it. Not enough to not tense up and a look that says oh, that book. “Listen-" he starts, but Stan cuts him off by putting his mouth on his. It’s only a couple of seconds before Stan pulls back. There’s an excruciating silence, neither of them move. Suddenly the room is much too hot but all they can do is sit there frozen.

  
“I know.” Is all he says. 

  
Richie opens his mouth to say something, but whatever he was going to say, he forgets and bites his tongue. He’s the first to bring himself to look at Stan, who’s red in the face.

The silence continues. And continues. And continues, until Richie speaks up quietly.  
“How did you...” he trails off.

Stan shrugs. “About you? Or me?” Richie merely nods. “You’d been acting strange a lot. I saw you reading it. I thought I’d see what it was. It’s not a bad book. If you’re into that kinda book. I don’t think my parents would wanted me reading it.” Richie mutters God under his breath as he continues. “I guess I was never really sure. I didn’t get. I didn’t want to think about it. So don’t think I don’t know what it’s like. I get it. I’m still kind of, you know, not completely sure.” Richie nods again. “How did you know?”

“I was at the arcade. You know, after Niebolt, the first time. After Eddie’s mom took him away, and Bill punched me in the face. So we all kinda went our own way, I guess.” Richie sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway. I was there. Me and this guy, we were playing Street Fighter. It’s great, everything’s great. Then Bowers comes in. And this guy turns on me. He’s Bowers' cousin. Can you believe that? He starts making it out that I’m coming onto him and Bowers, he gets loud. And I’m backing up and everyone’s backing away from me and I just. I bolt out, and I run far and I can’t breathe but I keep going. And that’s when I first see Pennywise alone.” Richie cringes at the memory. “And more than that it was like, this feeling of... betrayal I guess? And realising maybe they were right? And... This is Derry, Stan.”

It’s Stan's turn to nod. “I wish I’d been there. But, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me."

  
“It’s not like you came to me either, though.”

  
“I know. But I didn’t want to assume anything. I already know what school is like, what Derry is like. I live here too. You don’t think I don’t know what my parents would say if they knew. My dad's a fucking Rabbi, Richie. And I’m still not even sure how I feel about stuff. Like. I’m pretty sure I still like girls too. I think. But it’s... complicated? It’s not like it’s a choice I can make.”

  
“Sorry... How did- who did you, you know, who made you figure it out?”

  
“Promise you wont laugh?” 

  
“I’ll tell you something if you tell me, but you can’t laugh either, okay!”

  
“...Bill.”

  
“You know, that’s fair. I think Bill was probably everyone’s first crush. You know, that likes boys."

  
“Your turn.”

  
“Okay." Richie runs his hands on his jeans. “Okay. So, after the whole thing with Bowers, it’s a little while later. God, I hate this. It’s so dumb it’s unbelievable. Okay, so I find myself at the kissing bridge. Don’t pull that face. You cant laugh, those were your rules. And, shut up, I carve my initials... With Eddie’s..."

  
“You were in love with Eddie?”

  
“I mean. Kinda. We were thirteen, so... But like, I never told anyone. I didn't even tell Bev.”

  
“Does Bev know?”

  
“Yeah... Actually, for a little while now. I asked her to keep it a secret.” Richie nudges Stan. “I’m sorry for worrying you guys. Bev told me about it, I just couldn’t help it. I wanted to say something. I’m just not the best at coping with it."

  
“Dude, I have anxiety, I’m constantly overthinking everything.” Stan looks up, “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before kissing you like that I just thought I would back out of it if I didn’t.”

  
“You should have. But it’s okay. I get it. I’d jump at the chance to make out with me too.” Stan tries to sway his head but Richie ducks. “Everything is a mess.”

  
“I’m not a fan of this whole clusterfuck of gender and sexuality and I think we should totally just kill whoever’s invented them.”

  
“I mean, you’re right. But the guy has probably been dead for at least seven years.”

  
“There’s nothing wrong with that number because technically you’re not wrong, I just hate it.” Stan smiles and feigns contempt but Richie is close enough to see the look of affection on his face that if you asked him, Stan would absolutely deny.

  
“Did it have a happy ending?”

  
“What?” 

  
“The book. I never got to finish it. Did it have a happy ending?”

  
“Actually,” Stan sighs happily. “Yeah, it did.”


	5. It's Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years of childhood therapy did not prepare me for being gay and crying over the killer clown in this gay rom-com I watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, by the way, this entire thing ignores Chapter Two and any links from Chapter One to Two. Two dudnt happen, doesnt exist, isn't real. You're welcome.

When he smokes with Bev, it’s laying on the grass in the Summer with the sun blaring down on them and Bev giggling at whatever dumb joke Richie just made. Her hair looks like fire, but he can’t quite see it clearly because she’s wearing his glasses and telling him how blind he is. He already knows this because everything is kinda blurry. He thinks that Ben might’ve been right about her hair being winter fire, but Ben should write something else because Richie has heard January Embers so many times.

He asks Bev what live is like but she says she doesn’t know. Sure he lived Eddie but they were like thirteen so it’s different to when you grow up, Richie thinks. She tells him that mostly she just has crushes. Bill when she was younger, something she comes to reminisce about. And Ben, who wrote her a secret admirer poem. Ben who looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky. The warm feeling she gets when she thinks about the fact that someone she cares about that cares about her just as much. But she doesn’t know if it’s love, because love is complicated and difficult and she wants to be free and happy. When he asks Ben, Ben sighs. Not in a particularly happy or unhappy way, he just does it. He waits for a moment. He loves Bev, everyone has known he loves Bev for a long time. Ben says it’s the feeling of not wanting to let them go, wanting to be around them forever and knowing there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them. It made sense, but Richie would die for any of them, so he doesn’t quite get it. If he could be around his friends all of the time, he would.

When Richie smokes alone, it’s out in his yard. Or the house on Niebolt. It’s empty now, it’s safe, but nobody is going to bother to go in there. When he’s alone, he’s quiet, he doesn’t need to talk to anyone. He doesn’t need to fill the silence with jokes. Nobody will see him. He usually only goes there when his parents aren’t home. It’s his little secret. On the other hand he can make as much noise as he wants to, he can scream or cry or do nothing at all and just sit there.

When he’s with Bev, he talks and she listens. Really listens. He’s trying his best with this opening up thing. They have shared trauma that nobody but the losers would really understand, but there are things he doesn’t share because that too, is different. And for once, Richie’s walls are down and he doesn’t pretend things don’t affect him. Sometimes they both end up crying a little, sat up hugging on the grass, because everything in the world is a little fucked up.

What he doesn’t mention is the nights he spends with Stan, because that’s a secret for them. The nights he spends with his arms around his waist and his face pressed against his neck. The nights that his parents are gone and clueless and Stan sleeps over because Stan had always been a sweet kid. Even just laying on the sofa, the TV playing quietly, head resting against his shoulder. Or the feeling of Stan gently brushing their hands together, discretely as they pass each other in the halls between class.

For Stan, he’s not sure what it all means. Richie has been his friend for a long time and he can’t lose Richie. He knows that this isn’t what _just friends_ do, but he also doesn’t want to push. So he braces himself.  
“What is this?” He asks. It’s dark, and they’re laid on Richie’s bed, just looking up at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. He’s had then up there since they were kids and Stan still hadn’t figured out how he got them up there in the first place. Richie isn’t even all that into stars, he just thought they looked cool. “I mean, us. We. What are we?”

  
Richie turns his head to look at him. There’s only faint moonlight and the reflection of the stars in his eyes, glowing green, that Richie can barely see him. Richie shrugs. “I don’t know. Do we need a word for it?”

  
“I guess not...” Stan replies.

  
“I mean,” Richie starts again. “If my parents find out, if your parents find out... It’s over isn't it. Our parents wont let us see each other ever again.”

  
“God, if my parents find out... But what about when we turn eighteen. I get cut off? I have to move out? We go somewhere else, somewhere better than this. We go to college.”

  
Richie shrugs. “Assuming we can get into the same college.”

  
“Believe me,” Stan elbows him gently, “You can get into wherever I end up. Even if your parents want you to go somewhere else. Fuck them. It’s your life.”

  
Richie blinks in surprise of Stan's tone, usually more reserved, more respectful. Not that Richie blames him. “I don’t know, I’ve been trying to work out stuff. Like, how I feel. It’s a little hard.”

  
“Hard how?”

  
“It's just... I know that I like you. And everything is great. And honestly I don’t know if I’d still be here if it weren’t for you. No, really, I didn’t expect to still be alive long enough to finish high school and here I am.”

  
“You make it sound like-"

  
“I know what I sound like.” He sighs, and he stops looking at Stan. “Have you ever felt so alone. It’s kind of like your world is collapsing in on itself. And even if you’re physically surrounded by people who care about you, there’s the though in your brain that none of it is real. And the feeling that nobody would notice if you weren’t really there? Kind of like you’re on the outside looking in. It’s like... People would be better off if you just weren’t there, y'know.”

  
Stan closes his eyes and searches for Richie’s palm to clasp their fingers together. “The feeling where you feel like you’re going to cry and you can’t. And you feel like you’re going to throw up? Yeah, I know that. Your chest hurts and everything is too loud and too fast and your heart is beating out of your chest and you feel dizzy.”

  
Richie nods. He’s too warm and his hands are clammy but Stan doesn’t seem to care. “I didn’t know how to cope with that. I still don’t, if I’m being honest. That’s why I jump from one thing to the next without regarding the risk. I’ve tried to stop but I can’t kick everything completely. Because I know it’s hard on you and you shouldn’t have to take care of me. But you do it anyway. You always have and I don’t know how you out up with it.”

  
“Because I’m your best friend, asshole.” He squeezes his hand. “I care about you and I’d obviously rather you didn’t die. Actually if we’re wanting things I wish you wouldn’t think about wanting to die at all.”

  
“Believe me, it’s not something I actively seek out. And I’m not simply just going to therapy because if I go in there and say: hey me and my friend killed this clown as a kid and now I’m gay and sad, they are going to lock me up.” 

Stan rolls onto his side, takes Richie’s glasses and places them on the dresser next to the bed. He likes hearing Richie talk, prefers it in normal circumstances where he can lay and listen to Richie talk about what he thinks President Clinton is doing wrong. Or about the entire plot to Return of the Jedi. Not that he took everything in.

Richie doesn’t ask Stan what he thinks love is. Stan doesn’t quite know either. But he wants to. He doesn’t know if he loves Richie but he thinks, being happy like this. Is pretty close enough for now. And maybe he cant write a poem or put it into words but it’s there. And if he’s aware of Richie brushing his knuckles against his cheek as he falls asleep, he doesn’t let on.


	6. Richie Refrains From Screaming For Several Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theres Angst. Then some soft angst. It's all very gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter im sorry took so long i tried really hard though.. 
> 
> i remember reading a post on tumblr about someones experience with judaism and their faith and relationship with god and how to be jewish is to ask questions. to be in an open conversation and challenge god in a sense, i cant find it but i know it exists. but i was thinking about that for this chapter.

Richie wasn’t really shocked when several years of your mom jokes caught up with him. This time, Eddie was the joker, and Richie’s mom was on the other end. It was what Eddie said next that had thrown him. 

“Dude. I’m kidding. It was a joke, I don’t even like girls.”

  
Richie doesn’t respond, just opens and closes his mouth but no words come. Eddie watches him from across the hammock. A moment or two pass.

“Really?”

  
“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly. “Is that a problem?”

  
“No, I- No. There’s no problem at all I just- I have to go.” Richie scrambles to get up from the hammock. “I just remembered something. Uh. I’ll see you later.” He says as he climbs out.

He doesn’t really think about the consequences until he’s talking to Bev on the phone later, or rather talking at her. He’s laid on his bed, the window cracked open to get rid of the smell of cigarettes. He knows he should probably quit but he can’t bring himself to.

  
“God. I. Fuck. He's gonna think I hate him. He’s gonna think I’m homophobic. I’m literally gay and that’s the entire problem.”

  
“Do you like him?” Bev interjected quickly, trying to get a voice in edgeways, the voice of reason. 

  
“I did. I used to. Now? I don’t know? I’m confused. He might not even like me and anyway it doesn’t matter because it would just make everything even more complicated to think about. It’s different now and I can’t do this to Stan.” Richie stops.

  
“Stan?”

  
“Shit. Fuck...” Silence. He sighs loudly. “Listen, don’t tell Stan I said anything okay. Fuck, I didn’t mean to mention it. I’m just confused, okay. Everything’s confusing.”

  
“Okay.” Richie can hear the click of a lighter on the other end of the phone. “You should probably talk to him about it though, Eddie too. It’s no good keeping secrets. Especially since they’re your best friends. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  
“I will I’m just dreading it. Thanks for letting me vent all this at you, I know I’m a pain in the ass.”

  
“Yeah but your my government assigned pain in the ass.”

It’s the afternoon when Richie turns up at Stan's. “Are your parents home?”

  
“Yeah, what’s up?” He says closing the door behind him and motions for Richie to walk.

  
“We need to talk,” he looks around. “But not here.”  
Stan raises an eyebrow but follows anyway. They walk in silence for a while until they arrive.

  
“Neibolt?” Stan says as Richie walks up and pushes the door open with ease. 

Richie sits on the floor, lighting up another cigarette. “Sometimes I come here when I want to be alone. It’s quiet. Nobody else comes near.” Stan sits across from him silently. “Bev knows about us.” Richie recounts his day, talking to Eddie, calling Bev. “I’m sorry it just... slipped out. I asked her not to say anything I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”

  
“I’m not mad.”

  
“I just... I don’t know how to talk about it. It’s complicated and I don’t understand it. And I don’t like not understanding. It scares me. I thought I was over Eddie and now I’m not even sure. I spent my childhood in love with him but always from an unattainable perspective, always thinking he’d leave if he knew what I was like. But now? I don't know.” He sighs, looking at the old, dusty floorboards. “I’m eighteen. I don’t know what I’m doing and things are going so fast it’s like everything is falling apart. I don't even know if you can even like two people that much because I-"

  
“Because you?”

  
Richie clenched his jaw before trying to look at Stan. “Because I think I like you too... More than just us fooling around when our parents aren't around and hiding in secret because I’m too afraid of what people might think of me.”

Stan reaches for his hand shuffles a little closer. “You remember when I made that speech at my Bar Mitzvah? My dad hated it. He was so mad. Well, he used to make me study the Torah, which is fine. But I have been, I’ve been to the library too. Did you know America’s first gay Rabbi came out in 1980. Do you know what that means? There are places out there for us. We can get out of here, all of us. I get being scared, I do. But I think, I can hope, things will get better.” He looks at Richie, who’s looking at their intertwine hands. “I don’t think any of us are meant to know all the answers. I can’t tell you how to feel and I can’t tell you what Eddie feels or how everything is going to go but for what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure I like you too.”

Across town a boy sits alone at his window.


	7. When You're Gay and In Love With Your Two Best Friends But You're Also Sad and Repressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda angst heavy. Like really angst heavy. Richie is not having a good time.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Eddie heard the noise from his window, it had been going every few seconds for a solid minute and a half before he gave up trying to ignore it. His mom was probably sleeping but he couldn’t risk it waking her up. It was getting pretty dark and the radio was playing too quietly to drown out any noise.

_Tap. Tap._

He pulls the curtains apart and opens the window and whisper yells, “What? What do you want?”

Richie is down there with a handful of rocks, paused mid-action, about to throw another. He stops when he sees Eddie. Eddie can’t really tell if he’s feeling angry or just upset. He certainly doesn’t want to see Richie, of all people. Except, he kind of does.

Richie responds, “I need to talk to you.” When not getting a response, points to the window and starts toward the wall.

“No. No, not again. I’m coming down.” Eddie whispers and closes the window. Richie smiles. Last time he'd tried to climb to Eddie’s room they’d ended up in hospital because Richie had very nearly broken his foot. Eventually, the door opens, but Eddie looks unamused. He closes the door behind him. “What do you want? You tryin' to wake my mom, Rich? Don’t be so loud.” He folds his arms.

“Like I said-" Richie quietens his voice. “Like I said. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Then talk.” He crosses his arms.

“Listen. I know you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not... mad, Richie. Just... I don’t know... disappointed I guess.”

“I didn’t leave the club house because I’m homophobic, Ed’s. I know it looked like that but it’s not. I know I can be an ass sometimes but it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Of all the dumb things you do, I really trusted you, I thought you would understand. How do you think I felt when you just took off like that?”

“I know. I know. I'm sorry. It's just, complicated. I was a little surprised. I had to think about things. It’s a long story.” When Eddie doesn’t reply, he continues. “I do understand, Eds. I reacted badly.”

“You know... I really thought you liked me too but now, maybe I was just deluding myself.”

“I did. I thought you were straight. You went out with girls.”

“Yeah and they always ended. Either because they realised I wasn’t really interested or I just felt bad for them because I knew that they were just being caught up in all my pretending and it wasn’t fair.” Eddie pauses. “You did? Past tense? So you’re...”

Richie sighs a laugh. “Yeah. God. I don’t know.” He looks past Eddie’s face to the door behind him. “God, Eds.” He shakes his head. “When we were kids I was so in love with you. When we were fighting that clown I wasn’t thinking God, what if it gets me. I was thinking, God, where is Eddie. If he’s with me nothing can happen. I was carving our initials on the bridge. I was screaming into my pillow over the fact something was wrong with me and how I couldn’t tell anyone especially the person I wanted to tell the most in the world.”

Eddie’s face blanks, “Richie...” he says softly.

“Now... Now everything’s all complicated. Yes, I like you. Of course I like you, Eds. But, God, it’s too late for this. I- I'm, I'm kinda with someone now.” He bites is lip and wipes the tears from underneath his glasses. “And I really really like him too. And now I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do, Eds. Because I’ve waited my whole life for this and I was finally moving on and now...”

Eddie moves forward, bringing him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Richie’ neck with his face in his shoulder. He’s crying a little but he doesn't care. “I don’t know either, Rich.” He mumbles into his shirt. He only cares about the fact Richie wraps his arms around his chest and hugs him tighter. They’re both crying.

They don’t know how long it’s been when they finally break apart. Eddie’s eyes are a little red. Richie wipes the tears off his cheek with his thumb and leaves his hand cupping his cheek. “You should go back inside, Eds. You don't want your mom get mad, right.” 

*** 

  
There’s a banging on Richie’s door. His parents are at work so he doesn’t worry about it. He wishes it would stop though. His head is screaming. Is it the third day he’s woken up with a hangover? The fourth? He just knows the sun is too bright to be coming through his curtains like that. And whoever is at the door is too loud. He knows he missed a test on Tuesday, but his parents never brought it up, if they’d noticed. They left early and got back late and Richie mostly spent his time in his room anyway.

He groans, sitting himself up on his bed and fumbling in his cupboard for painkillers as the banging continues. They wont give up. He doesn’t even look in the mirror when he puts his glasses on. He knows his hair is a mess. He knows he needs a shower.

  
“Richie, I know you’re in there. Open the fuck up.” He stumbles down the stairs nearly missing the last four or five to swing open the door and squints. “Shit, dude.” It’s Stan. Richie doesn’t respond. “What the fuck happened to you?” He pushes past Richie, pinching his nose.

Richie blinks rapidly before turning around and looking at Stan. “What?” He manages to ask but his throat feels like someone had rubbed sandpaper across it.

Stan tilts his head and looks Richie in the eye the best he can. He’s jittery and unfocused, he can tell. “Seriously. I’m worried about you. We all are. You don’t turn up to class. You don’t answer my calls. You don’t answer Bev's calls. It literally smells like something died in here..” He pauses for a minute before grabbing Richie’s sleeve. 

He tugs him up the stairs before switching on the shower and dragging him under the running water before he can argue. It’s cold, it’s so cold. It jolts Richie back to reality a little, but it’s a fee minutes before he can collect his bearings, Stan watching him. He switches the shower off himself, when he can bring himself to. And Stan grabs a towel to put around his shoulders. Richie’s clothes are soaking, his hair is soaking. They sit on his bed in silence.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Stan shakes his head. “You’ve been avoiding all of us. But mostly me. And I’m worried about you. What you’re doing to yourself. I don’t know what happened but you’re obviously not okay, but whatever it is, we can work this out, you know that, right?”

  
“Can we, Stanley? Is that right?” Richie sighs. “Can we work out what I’m meant to do when all of my friends leave this awful town. When everyone forgets and leaves me behind.”

  
“We’ve gone through this, nobody is going to leave or forget you, what do you even think of me?”

  
“It doesn’t change anything though, does it? You can’t prove it wont happen. It doesn’t fix the fact that when I finally like a guy and feel myself moving forward the past drags me back. It’s not like I could just flip a coin and choose who I want to be with. You guys aren’t some one night thing that’s I’ll forget about when you leave before I wake up the next morning.”

  
“Eddie?”

  
“Yeah, Eddie. Of all the times he could’ve spoken up about this he waits till now, when it’ll most fuck me up and get me confused all over again. What would you do, Stan?”

  
Stan shrugs. “I don't know. I want you to be happy. But, I also want me to be happy. And obviously that doesn’t mean I want Eddie to be unhappy. I don’t want to just give you up like that.”

  
“It’s not like I want that either. I don’t even know what I do want. Actually, what I want is to not have to deal with this. What I want is to not have to choose. If you can figure me a way out of this one, I am all ears.”

  
“You’ll be the first person I tell if I do. But we also need to talk about you. The way you’re dealing with this isn’t healthy. It’s not good for you. And we care about you and don't want anything bad to happen to you. I’m not suggesting you see someone. I would but I know you hate that.”

  
“I literally do not trust anyone. Especially if they have power over me in anyway. Especially if they can try to put me in therapy to like, ungay me. Because it wont work, I’ll just have a bad time, I already tried to straighten up and look where I am now. Borderline crying over two guys who are better off not being with me at all.”

  
“For what it’s worth, I think your fine just how you are. Not to sound all sappy and emotional or anything. You just need to care about yourself more, like I care about you. Without the self-deprecating jokes.”

  
The corner of Richie’s mouth twitches up into a half smile.


	8. On God We Gon Get You Some Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made Stan non-binary and the lot of you just have to deal with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took so long for a short chapter because we really be going through it with a pandenic and also.
> 
> I kept opening the document, seeing some cringe gay shit I wrote and then refusing to carry on.

“I started seeing someone by the way.”

  
“Oh yeah?” Stan raises his eyebrows.

  
Richie kicks him gently in the side of the chest and props himself up on his elbows. “In like a therapy way, dumbass.” He digs around in the drawer beside him. “I didn’t tell my parents. He gave me some of these pills.” They rattle when he throws them over.

  
“Do they work?”

  
“No, I feel like shit. It’s only the first week though, so apparently I’m gonna feel lot worse before it gets better. They’re not like, happy pills. They’re more, pills that make me feel like I can function like a regular human being for a bit.”

  
“You realise you have to be sober to take these.” Stan says handing them back.

  
Richie sighs, “Yeah. But what’s the harm in trying to get better, I guess. What’s the point if I don’t. I just kept going like I was? I know they’re not gonna fix everything. The doc already went through all of that.”

  
“What did he say?”

  
“Well, I didn’t tell him about the clown stuff. Or the gay stuff.” Richie fidgets with the bottle in his hand. “I missed most of what he said, I was kinda out of it, anxiety, y'know. He was talking about childhood trauma, coping mechanisms and stuff. About all the dead kids and stuff from when we were younger. And about how it’s really up to me to improve myself.”

  
“So what are your new coping mechanisms?”

  
“I don’t know.” Richie shrugs, “Cry for a bit? Take a nap. Kiss my boyfriend?”

  
Stan smirks and sits up, “You know there are easier ways to ask.”

  
“What am I if not over dramatic and funny?”

  
“Annoying and stupid.”

  
“Yeah, but I’m your annoying and stupid and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Quietness settles around them.  
“I’ve been thinking...”

  
“Oh god, not again.”

  
Stan swats Richie and shakes his head. “Listen. I know everything’s been a bit, well, weird. With Eddie and stuff. And I know it’s been kinda hard for you. I mean, not that I haven’t been conflicted when I thought about it.”

  
“Come here,” Richie beckons him over to sit in front of him, wrapping his arms around him to hug him close and rest his chin on Stan's shoulder.

  
“Rich...” He sighs. He turns is head and twists himself around to take his glasses off. He leaves his hands around Richie’s face, Rubbing his thumb over his cheekbones. “I think. You can say no. But I think we should tell them. The Losers. Bev knows.”

  
Richie tenses and interrupts. “Stan.”

  
“Listen. I said you can say no. But please, hear me out.” He continues, “At least tell Eddie. Things are already strained as it is with him. It’s already complicated. But I hate it. And I hate having to pretend that when we’re all hanging out that everything is all fine and good and that we’re just friends. You’re my boyfriend for fucks sake. Maybe the world doesn't have to know that yet. Maybe... I love my friends. But if I can’t be myself while still being their friend then maybe it’s for the best that they aren’t. I know I’m always meant to be the level headed one but I can’t. I just think I should be able to let everyone know that I love you without feeling like the world is going to crash and burn. I-"

  
Richie’s knuckles are white tightly grasping the front of Stan's shirt. They’re both frozen. Richie feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe and Stan can feel the heat of the blood rising to his face, trying to read the emotion in Richie’s.

“I-" he starts again. “Forget I said anything. It’s nothing. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m not mad at you. It’s just. You know.”

  
“How? How am I supposed to forget that? You can’t just- just take it back! You can’t expect me to not have any kind of reaction to that! God, Stanley. I...”

  
“You don’t have to say it back.” Stan shakes his head. “I just... I hate having to lie. I hate having complicated feeling about everything. I hate not knowing how people who care about me will think of me. But I don’t want to live pretending. So many times I’ve almost said things to my mom. And I think she’d be okay. But she’d talk to my dad. And I don’t know. He got mad when I gave that speech at my bar mitzvah.”

  
“Yeah but I have you a standing ovation,” Richie mumbles.

  
“I just think. If it’s who I am, nothing is going to change that even of I really tried. And I know that maybe you still have residual feelings for Eddie, and you know that I’m okay. I get it. You’re cute, Eddie’s cute. I’m a mess, obviously.” Stan sighs, “Like. I get it, I get it.”

  
“Oh?”

“There’s something else. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not something that’s easy to put into words.”

  
“If it matters to you, then it matters to me too. Just because I cant say it doesn’t mean it isn’t true or don’t want to.” Richie puts a hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right? I might talk a lot of shit but at the end of the day...” 

  
Stan nods slightly. “I just don’t want anything to change. Especially between us.”

  
“Now who’s being an idiot.”

  
“The whole speech my dad tried to shut down. I know it’s been four years but it’s always been in the back of my head. I had the bar mitzvah because its what my dad wanted. Their parents were Jewish. Their parents were Jewish. My grandpa had one, he did, he wanted me to have one. The concept of this one big celebration of becoming a man that everyone is so hyped up about. I was thirteen, I didn’t know shit. I knew it didn’t feel right. It’s not about not growing up, I know we grow up, look at us. That’s not a choice I got to make for me.” Stan fidgets with the sheet beneath them. “I didn’t get to be who I wanted because I wanted to be normal and feel normal and felt pushed into a box of who everyone else wanted.”

  
“What did you want?” Richie asks softly.

  
“It’s not that I want to be a woman. I’m. No. Like don't get me wrong I know that sometimes people do that and like. That’s for them. Good for them. But it’s more than that it’s... hard to explain. It just feels like... there was a reason I was so against being a man. That I cant explain. It just feels like there’s so much more than just. Boys and girls. But people are so set on this is what boys are and this is what girls are and this is how you act. And when I look at that it just, doesn’t feel right. For me. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I don’t care. I don’t feel... that. Connected.”  
Richie stays quiet for a moment before speaking. “Why would that change between us?”

  
“You like boys. And if I don’t know if I am. Then...”

  
“No. I do like boys, you’re right. But you know what else I like? You.”


End file.
